


An Unhealthy Atmosphere

by AndromedaCat



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaCat/pseuds/AndromedaCat
Summary: Holmes, Watson and Clark are discussing past cases when a client with some vague concerns about their domestic life asks for help.Yes, Holmes will actually be in this one!!Other favourite characters from the last one may also make an appearance.I'm hoping to add to this once a week, but we'll see.Tusen Takk!
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

An early Spring had come to Baker Street. January had been unseasonably warm, though a chill still lingered and the fires were lit. Holmes, Clark, Lestrade and I were gathered in the sitting room. It had been over a month since our last adventure, and it had taken quite a lot of convincing to make Holmes pause his work and recover his strength after. It was Holmes’ intention to immediately seek out other members of the treacherous Bradshawe’s group hidden in the force, but Clark, Lestrade and I had argued that if Holmes appeared to be on their track they would immediately flee. Holmes eventually agreed to rest at home and allow Lestrade and Gregson to investigate, albeit with numerous instructions. 

It was to discus Bradshawe further that Lestrade had come to visit. While charged with kidnapping and obstructing justice, there was little to keep Bradshawe imprisoned. He had been unwilling to reveal any details of his operation, and Lestrade was interested in advice. “I’m certain he knows a great deal,” said Lestrade. “However, we have had no success in getting him to speak. Even the promise of the Queen’s protection will not encourage him to tell us who hired him or planned your abduction. I hardly wish to see him disappear into the world, but we have no way to keep him in custody any longer.”

“Unfortunately there is nothing to be done,” said Holmes, tapping out the ashes from his pipe. “If the law cannot hold him he is free. He will most likely return to whomever hired him and vanish entirely.”

“Out of England, you mean?” I asked. “While that may be a relief to ourselves, it may pose a threat to whatever country chooses to harbour him. I doubt he would abandon criminal activity, most fellons never do.”

“Out of the country or out of the world entirely,” said Holmes. “His face and name are now well known to both myself and Scotland Yard, there it little likelihood that his employer would be able to use him outside of petty thefts and deaths. Should his employer be ruthless, he may decide that while loyal, there is no usefulness in Bradshawe anymore. He would then be limited to either using Bradshawe for small secretive matters, paying him to retire and hoping he never chooses to side with British law, or dispose of him.”

“Would Bradshawe’s bank records show any of this?” asked Clark. “Surely a large sum for any assignments he’s undertaken could be traced.” 

“Sadly the law is not on our side there,” said Lestrade. “And I very much suspect our fellow was paid in notes, as a cheque would lead instantly to our mastermind.”

“You appear to have thought this through,” remarked Holmes to Lestrade. “I fail to see why you brought this matter to us.”

“I was hoping Miss Clark would kindly agree to assist me,” said Lestrade. “I thought that Bradshawe may be willing to answer to you, as he appeared to take a special interest in you. Perhaps he would soften under your woman’s charm.”

The silence in the room was deafening. 

The expression on Clark’s face told very clearly that the idea was not a welcome one. Clark had never told me what was written in the letter Bradshawe had sent her, though I suspect she had shown it to Holmes to further round out Holmes’ knowledge of Bradshawe’s character. While I could see a slight chance that a repentant Bradshawe could be moved to speak to Clark, I also felt it a distinct possibility that Clark would render the man unconscious again if they met. 

Holmes, feeling that Lestrade’s safety was in jeopardy, hurriedly responded. “I highly doubt that a charlatan as accomplished as he would unbend so easily. We shall have to do all we can to monitor Bradshawe after his release. Are there any travel bans to be imposed on him?”

“They are before a judge,” answered Lestrade as he rose to his feet, clearly reluctant to let his idea drop but also recognizing that his suggestion would come to nothing. “I can only hope we are granted them before Bradshawe vanishes.”

After Lestrade had left, Holmes and I swiftly turned the conversation away from Lestrade’s scheme and continued pondering the failed crime. There had been nothing found on the S.S. Virginia to warrant the criminal activity we had encountered, and Holmes was not entirely convinced it had not been a test of systems and strength of the still hidden organization.

We were still discussing this when Holmes’ next client arrived.


	2. Femme Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, things are starting to come together. 
> 
> There are a dozen roads this story could take, I'm seeing which one the characters choose.   
> We meet our new client, and encounter a somewhat unusual will.
> 
> Tusen takk!

Introduced by Billy as “Miss Emma Baylee”, the young lady who entered our sitting room was the very picture of a Femme Fragile, cloaked in mourning black. Her very fair skin was nearly translucent, making the brown of her hair, lashes and brows seem stark in contrast. A faint pink flush was still seen on her cheeks, suggesting a resilience and life despite her weakness. Her breath did not seem to come easily to her, and she gratefully sank into a chair as soon as introductions were made. Clark had risen and made to go when our guest was announced, but Holmes had gestured for her to remain where she was. Our guest seemed to find Miss Clark’s presence encouraging, and seemed both further relieved and slightly nervous upon meeting me. 

Holmes naturally preferred to come immediately to the point when visited by a client, but the frailty of our guest restrained his usual eagerness and he urged the lady to recover herself before speaking. 

“I hope I’m not going to waste your time,” Miss Baylee said. “But I’m in the midst of some rather strange occurrences and am at a loss as to what I should do. Should all of this be simply due to personal idiosyncrasies… I mean…”

At this our guest paused and shot another nervous glance at me.

“I’ll start at the beginning. I live with my sister, Julia, who is three years my senior, in our family home, a townhouse. I have never been very strong, and much of my life has been there, while my more robust sister was able to travel and be educated abroad before returning to live with us. My mother died shortly after I was born, thirty years ago, and my father, Clarence Baylee, never remarried. My father was devoted to our mother, and preserved her rooms in our apartments exactly as they were during her life. We were rarely allowed in them, but shortly before the death of my father…”

Again Miss Baylee appeared to struggle for breath, shaking her head as if to clear it. With a small sigh, she drew from her pocket an envelope and passed it to Holmes. 

“‘Last Will and Testament of Clarence Baylee… Ownership of the townhouse… Baylee Original Decoration Limited… All I possess to my daughter Julia and her descendants.’ Strange that he should so cut you from the picture.”

“It is simply cruel!” I said.

“I had money from mother’s estate left to me, as well as support from my father in life,” Miss Baylee said, regaining a little of her breath. “My future is secure, really. While I can’t understand father leaving things the way he did, as he was always kind to me, it’s the addendum at the end that is most perplexing.”

Holmes again took up the document. “Hmm… ‘Should my dear Emma regain her strength, God willing, I entrust her to the care of her loving sister Julia, on condition that she take up her beloved mother’s rooms. Julia and I enjoyed dear Helen’s presence for even a short time, it was cruel of me to so take what remained of hers from you. It would make her smile, I know, to see you admiring her favourite dresses and enjoying all the things she loved.’”

“This will was written when I was but a child, when mother’s chambers were still forbidden to us except on the anniversary of her death. Several months ago, just before he died, father appeared to change his mind and gave me mother’s rooms. He encouraged me to wear her dresses, saying nothing would have made her happier. I was rather worried that Julia would be jealous of this, and suggested that she should also share in mother’s things, but father refused. Again stating that mother’s possessions should be mine, he instead purchased new things for Julia to ensure she felt included.”

Again our guest struggled for breath, a spasm of pain flashing across her face. Clark poured her a glass of water, unsure of what to do, which Miss Baylee accepted gratefully. Holmes was still examine the will, but handed it back to Miss Baylee when she had recovered enough to speak again.

“Father was always kind, though distant. At times I feared that he blamed my birth for causing the death of our mother, though Julia assured me this was not the case. Whenever I was ill, which was frequently, he was always most attentive in his care.”

“It is not his behaviour that puzzles you the most, I assume,” said Holmes. “As possibly conflicting as your father’s feelings may have seemed, I fail to see how they would be still impacting your life to such an extent that after his death you are moved to seek out a detective. I take it you fear behaviour of a certain living family member may be more alarming than you are willing to admit.”

The lady paled still further, again looking nervously to me. “While I am puzzled by my father’s instructions and actions, I am confused further still by my sister. As children we were fairly close, although we drifted apart over the course of of our lives when she was abroad. Throughout my life, I felt as if my sister were two different people entirely. She could go from being my closest friend to seeming to hate me within the course of a day. I thought perhaps she resented my existence for taking away her mothers, but she has always rejected the idea. When I was ill, she would constantly hover, even as a child, and I could never shake the intense feeling that she was hoping I would not recover. As we matured, it seemed to grow worse. When our father suggested I take mother’s rooms, the gulf between Julia and I widened the most in the most peculiar way. She had endeavoured to prevent me from living in mother’s chambers, arguing with father that they ought to be updated before allowing me in them. She argued that mothers clothes were far too old fashioned, and hired dressmakers for me at her own expense as a gift. Even the books and figurines my mother loved, if I picked out up, she would take out of my hands and present me with something else as if to distract me. Father reacted by having the rooms renovated and the dresses altered, reprimanding my sister for being foolish. I have been living as father wished since shortly after his death, when the repairs to the rooms were done.”

“And the behaviour of your sister?”

“Still puzzling. She does all she can to draw me from the rooms and encourage me to distance myself from mother’s things. It has grown increasingly frenzied, to the point where today she slapped a painted paper fan of mothers out of my hands and tried to push me from my apartments, demanding I sit with her outside.”

“You fear madness?” Asked Holmes.

Again looking nervously at me, Miss Baylee replied. “I don’t know, I can’t understand her actions. She will not discuss them. She is all the family I have, for all her odd behaviour. I would not have her sent away or suffer. I also want to respect father’s wishes and mother’s memory, but not at the cost of my sister’s wellbeing. She tries all she can to keep me with her and be a loving sister despite all this, so I do not wish to leave her or our home. That is why I have come, to ask what to do.”

“And why you have been nervous around our Dr. Watson,” observed Holmes. “In case he declared your sister to be unwell and best removed from society.”

Our guest nodded.


	3. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes gives his advice for a moment and Holmes, Watson and Clark discuss the sisters.
> 
> I moved last week, and am getting myself back together, so there be delays.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

Holmes was silent for a moment. Miss Baylee played nervously with the finger of her glove. “I would appreciate your advice as to what I should do, Mr. Holmes. If my presence is somehow upsetting my sister, in addition to our father’s strange will irritating her, would it be kinder for me to set up my own home? Or do you feel that my sister would be so unwell that my leaving would further damage her? I hardly want to deny my father’s last wishes, but if it causes Julia to act so strangely…”

I felt that our guest had hit the nail on the head. The reactions of her sister appeared to be a clear demonstration of jealousy. The elder sister resented loosing her mother and possibly the absence of her father when he was preoccupied with the ailing younger sister. 

Holmes had remained standing by the mantlepiece, rousing himself at last and handing the paper back to Miss Baylee. “While peculiar, your sister does not appear to be destructive or intending to cause you harm. I suggest you remain with her, as I suspect she is honestly fond of you, while continuing to keep a close eye on her behaviour. Do you intend to continue following your father’s wishes?”

“I do,” replied our client.

“Would you for a moment consider abandoning them?”

Miss Baylee, Clark and I could not hide our confusion at this suggestion.

“Remain in your old rooms, and resume your life as it was before. After a week, report back to us with news.”

“Those were not father’s wishes…” our client began. Holmes looked steadily at Clark, who rose and took the lady’s hand. 

“Your father’s wishes, while kind at heart, may not have been made while taking into account all feelings. He does not mention your sister, who has surely suffered through his imposed restrictions on her mother’s rooms and belongings. I am certain both he and your late mother would prefer that you and your sister live happy and harmonious lives according to yourselves rather than tempestuous ones due to their requests in life. It is not a dishonour of the wishes of the dead to depart from their instructions in the name of health, harmony or safety.”

“It may not be for long,” I suggested. “If this brief divergence may be all that is needed for your sister to come to terms with whatever internal struggles she is dealing with.”

Our client sat still, her hand still in Clark’s. At last she looked round at us. “While I don’t like it, I will follow your advice. I will return in a week with what news there is.” 

Clark helped our client rise and I ventured into the street to hail her a handsome as she bid Clark and Holmes farewell. Seeing the faint lady into the carriage, I returned upstairs to my friends, Holmes lighting his pipe at the gas jet.

“Well, Holmes?” I asked.

“Well yourself, Watson. What do you make of it?”

“Miss Julia’s strange behaviour may be nothing more than jealousy at her sister being allowed into her mother’s room and possessions while she is not. Their father was a fool not to think that one sister might resent the other for the favourable treatment, particularly if Julia was a mere child at the time of their mother’s death. The loss would have impacted her greatly.”

“I suspect you are right, Watson. At least, in part. Let us not forget that our client’s sister may still feel affection, for her jealousy has been tempered with generosity that would not have been necessary. There is a great sense of care in her actions, however unusual. What do you say, Clark?”

“I think I would need to see their interactions before I could form an opinion,” Clark replied. “I do wish we could have witnessed her father’s behaviour.”

“You doubt the client’s story?” I asked.

“Not at all, I think she believes it entirely. I doubt it’s an unbiased opinion, however, and I suspect her feelings towards her sister and father were somewhat different when he was alive.”

“How so?”

“Consider it, Watson,” Holmes replied. “Miss Baylee’s views of her sister’s affections may be coloured by her own ideas. Her feelings of guilt at having had a possible hand in her mother’s death may have been repressed at her father’s and sister’s insistence, but they may yet linger. A spat over a bauble in childhood may have been taken by our client to be immediately due to ill feelings towards them, aroused by their secret ideas of blame. I do not rule out the idea that her sister’s reactions may be taken and magnified by our client. However, the actions may be as extreme as we have been told.”

“What about their father?” Asked Clark.

“His actions are truly peculiar,” I said.

“I was thinking more along the lines of calling them deliberately antagonistic. There is no possible way that he could expect his decision to leave all wealth and property to Julia and all the mother’s belongings to Emma to be a welcome one. What could be his reasoning? I suspect a few questions put to the unsuspecting staff would give a clearer picture yet.”

“Indeed,” replied Holmes. “Questions put to the maids and housekeeper, as there is no governess.”

“You know this, Holmes?” I asked.

“Surely if there had been one, Miss Baylee would have mentioned their presence and opinion. As it stands, I suspect that the loving and peculiar father saw to the rearing of his children. It raises a good deal of questions.”

“Such as?”

“Why did he so isolate his weaker daughter? Many sickly children of families of means journey the world seeking the waters or whatever remedies their doctors suggest. There was no mention of this or even of medical consultation. If ever a lady would benefit from fresh air and a change of scenery, it is this one.”

“And why so cut the elder sister from her mother’s things but leave her all wealth? I can’t tell if their father favoured the elder or the younger sister by his actions.”

“A favouritism so strong that it was set in a will when his daughters were but children and not altered through nearly thirty ears. I suspect more to the late Mr. Baylee’s actions that we see. We shall have to see what the week brings us. In the mean time, I will pose some discreet questions to the staff. Watson, I would be obliged to you if you would turn your medical knowledge to pondering our client’s lingering frailty. Clark, I suspect you would be willing to investigate the business of the late father? The Arts and Crafts movement is a specialty of yours, after all.”

“And,” I hastened to add, fearing that the lingering sting of Lestrade’s comments would flair at the suggestion of more domestic research, “I would be delighted if you could help with my medical research, if you have the time.”

Both Holmes and Clark looked amused, but accepted my suggestion.


	4. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our three sleuths meet to compare notes. What medical knowledge Watson supplies are coming from vague memories of a "Topics in Romantic Music" course I took where the theme was Death (think La Bhoemme and La Traviatta"), so don't hold me accountable for it's veracity.
> 
> Also, characters are coming up with new things every other breath, so this story is changing more than I expected. Hang tight!
> 
> Tusen Takk!

It was some little time before we three sat down to discuss our case. Five days had passed, I had been busy with my medical rounds, though had devoted time to understanding the illness of our client. Clark had decided to don her male costume for a better investigation into Mr. Baylee’s Arts and Crafts enterprise, it being a male dominated field, for all the enthusiasm of the ladies. She had visited the rival establishments first in the guise of an elegant business woman endeavouring to write an article, with a simple wardrobe and slight voice alteration in her male form being enough to fool many. Holmes had supplied Clark with a cast off wig, and she had taken to wearing it when her short hair would be an inconvenience to her work. Holmes had been absent from the house for most of the time, returning mainly to change his costume from that of a tradesman to that of a respected financial man and further still to a most bohemian craftsman. At length, we at last gathered one evening at Baker Street to discuss our findings. 

“Well?” Asked Clark. “Watson? Any ideas on our client?”

“I would have thought it to be consumption, given the lady’s paleness and struggles with breathing. However, there is no possible way that such a potent illness could continue for decades without overtaking the lady, especially as a child. Her cheeks lack the hectic flush, and her eyes the brightness that usually follows consumption. I would have suspected asthma, but she has no other symptoms. That these attacks seem to come and go, and with no obvious pre-cursor or the lady would have mentioned one, seems to rule out a severe allergy.”

“I feel you are right on all counts, Watson,” said Holmes, in a rare moment of praise. “We may need to consult a respiratory illness specialist. I also wonder about more of the lady’s symptoms than merely her breathing.”

“You suspect much more?” Clark asked.

“I do. You noticed the spasm of pain across her face? From where her hand went at that moment, as we are all moved to hold our hands over areas of pain, there is also an intestinal difficulty. Given the faint wince on her face when she was forced to turn towards the fire to look at me, I also suspect photosensitive headaches.”

“Poor woman,” said Clark.

“It would do you yourself or another medical practitioner to see the lady, Watson,” Holmes said. “Did you discover anything more?”

“I managed to discretely inquire into the death of both parents,” I said. “Apparently the father sickened and died much like our client has been ill, which could point to something hereditary. His death was very quick, however, within a matter of days.”

“And Helen Baylee?”

“Her death appeared to be but a matter of days after our client’s birth. Again, it was a rapid decline of mainly breathing trouble, although I have learned through coroner’s reports that she was experiencing the same headaches and cramps that you suggested our client suffered.”

“Strange that it killed the two so quickly,” Clark observed. “Especially as they were both of them adults. Was the mother very sickly?”

“Not at all, from what I gather,” I responded. “she was said to have the same extreme fairness as her younger daughter, but to be in overall good health.”

“You raise interesting points,” Holmes said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes bright. “Especially of the lingering nature of Miss Baylee’s illness.”

“Do you suppose she is imitating it? Perhaps for attention or some deep seated idea to be more like her mother?”

“Had I not seen her myself I would have, although physical symptoms can manifest in a healthy individual with enough genuine belief. Turning again to the father, what have you discovered, Clark?”

“I’ve found nothing out of the ordinary in it. Mr. Baylee’s business partner was a man named Andrew Prender, whose means to start the venture were smaller than Mr. Baylee, who has continued to run his share of the corporation along side Julia Baylee. I’ve found that the company is running well, although there are the usual suspicions of malpractice floating through its competitors. 

However, at the time of our client’s birth, I did learn that there had been some sort of tension between Prender and Baylee. It was at this time that Prender withdrew a great deal from the business, going so far as to having his name taken off the company. There never appeared to be a reconciliation, although I gather that Prender was reluctant to leave the business entirely for fear that his complete withdrawal would injure Julia and Emma Baylee. There were several accounts of Julia in particular being overjoyed to see ‘Uncle Andrew’ at a trade show, and apparently Emma was quite fond of him too. I couldn’t discover if he was a friend of the family before or after starting the business.”

“Has Prender made no inquiry into the ill heath of the family?” I asked. 

“I tried to ask that, but no one seemed to know. I suspect Holmes would get a great deal more on that from the domestics.”

“I have,” replied Holmes. “Prender seems to never have been far away when Miss Baylee was ill. The housekeeper, who is as generous with her tea as with her knowledge when a tradesman goes above and beyond to repair the gas, told me that Prender would always be on the step within a day of Emma falling ill. Apparently he had been a close friend of Helen, who named him uncle of her children and also, very quietly, Godfather. It appears that Mr. Baylee resented the closeness between the two, which may or may not have been wholly innocent, and at one time attempted to limit their contact. Nearing our client’s birth, Mr. Baylee appeared to change his mind and was thought to be attempting to design some form of reconciliation gift for Prender. I gather he was shut away in his office for at least a week before the demise of his wife, and had asked her on several occasions what sort of hobbies Prender enjoyed. I gather Prender is something of an artist. 

At the death of Helen, however, the final wedge was driven between them. Prender apparently forced his way to Helen’s deathbed, despite the protests and threats of her husband, and stayed with her till her final moment. The maids informed me that Prender wanted to take Julia and Emma with him, but the law was not in his favour. This caused Mr. Baylee to throw away his attempts at peace, supposedly throwing whatever gift he had been concocting into the fire.

Coming back to the behaviour of the sisters. It is as we suspected. Both sisters have been struggling with conflicting feelings, although the staff swear there are no more devoted siblings alive on earth when they are in agreement. All staff suspect lingering conflicting feelings between and towards the daughters and their father. They see his allowing Emma into her mothers rooms as a form of apology, though even they were puzzled that Julia was so left out. All feel that our client resuming her old rooms and belongings is wise.”

“And I suppose now we wait,” said Clark.

“Indeed. We wait."


	5. Quite A Suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good Lord of the Rings, things keep changing!
> 
> I was chatting with MakeNoiseMan yesterday over a plot problem when a recurring character spoke in my ear and cleared the whole things up. I didn't tell MakeNoiseMan what had been said, so he was a lil miffed.
> 
> However, I nearly gave the game away when I was reassuring him that his character was not the villain. Managed not to spoil, though!
> 
> Tusen Takk!
> 
> P.S. I had to chuckle, these were my notes for this chapter before they ran away:
> 
> 'Lady returns, conditions worsened. Sister frantic, motives unclear. Suggests ******* * ******. Holmes thinks it’s bullshit. Discuss'

It was the next afternoon when Clark and I met up again in Baker Street. I had been unable to find an illness that corresponded to all of the symptoms Holmes had noticed. When in an occasional fog, I found that Clark’s unconventional mind frequently saw details and connections that I had previously missed, and she had agreed to act as a sounding board for me while Holmes was out. 

She was at at a loss as much as I, however. She suggested some new strain of tuberculosis, but I argued that it was too unlikely that our client should be ill while her sister remained healthy in the same home. We were still discussing this when Holmes arrived. He flung himself into his basket chair and took up his pipe, gesturing for us to continue. I was about to ask him where he had been when Clark spoke. “Holmes, do you think Mr. Baylee killed his wife?”

I was astonished by this. “Surely not!” I objected. “Miss Baylee herself said her father was devoted to their mother. His actions prove this.”

“I’m not so sure, Watson,” replied Holmes, flicking his spent match into the grate and puffing on his pipe. “Our clients impressions of her family are not purely objective, we agree on this. In addition, our client was never in the position to witness actions between her parents, we only have what she has been told to prove to us that it was a happy relationship. Mr. Baylee may have loved his wife and had no part in her death, although I suspect that he more loved her memory, regardless if he had a hand in her demise.”

“You honestly feel he killed his wife?”

“I suspect it, though I have no information on how or fully why. You have seen Mrs. Baylee’s coroner’s report?”

“Yes,” I replied. “It states clearly death in childbed from internal bleeding, coupled with some form of upper respiratory trouble from before the birth. Although I’m not satisfied with the report.”

“No?” Asked Clark. “Why not?”

“As strange as it sounds, I doubt the amount of certainty with which the physician stated the cause of death,” I replied. “Given our client’s ill health, I suspect the sudden and severe breathing troubles, headaches and cramps of her mother had a great deal more to do with her death, yes the doctor’s report was adamant it was the birth that ended her life.”

“Well said, Watson,” Holmes said. “I suspect you are correct. You know the physician?”

“I do not,” I admitted. “I have taken the liberty to to ask some of my closest colleagues if they know of this Dr. Thompson. I let them know this was in confidence, and the few that did know a little something of the man said they would pass on anything they heard. He appears to be a dark horse, a doctor who appears irregular in his rounds.”

“Has he attended to the Baylee family apart from this?” Asked Clark.

“He was apparently called to the house on a few occasions, but rarely. It was not he that signed the death certificate for Mr. Baylee, but a Dr. Rolstein, Dr. Thompson’s successor perhaps.”

“An inquiry into both physicians would be wise. No doubt Lestrade would value the work,” Holmes replied. “From what I have learned, neither doctor is a regular of the house. Both were called on occasion when Prender demanded a physician, although he refused to leave either doctor alone with the ladies. I feel Uncle Andrew was as rightfully suspicious as we are.” 

At this moment there was a loud peal at the bell, followed by rapid knocking. Holmes leapt to the window, exclaiming as he looked into the street. “It is our client! And with her sister! I suspect a tumultuous meeting, as the sister looks fairly frantic.”

This was an understatement, as the Baylee sisters entered the room, with the elder nearly carrying her ailing sister. Julia Baylee shared the same fairness as her sister, but with a far greater feeling of strength. Her face showed an almost startling intensity as she settled her sister on the couch, propping her up with cushions before wheeling around and looking at Holmes, Clark and I with blazing eyes.

“This has gone on long enough. My sister has told me what she told you. While I appreciate that you have encouraged her to leave our mother’s ancient things, it is not enough! Tell her to abandon the past! She needs a new home removed from all of this, but she refuses! I have the means and more to find a perfect haven for us, but Emma refuses to leave our childhood home, even while she worsens. Mother’s things, fathers things, all of it, should be thrown in the fire! Tell her! Look at her and tell me this life is good for her!”

Indeed, Miss Emma Baylee was not well. Her breath was so uneven and laboured she could not summon the strength to interrupt. Creases of pain crosser her brow and her face was more ashen than before. She managed to gasp, “I followed your advice, I swear! I have not entered mother’s rooms or touched her belongings.”

“You sister is correct, I suspect. I fear there is something in your past that is causing your ill health,” Holmes said.

“Truly, Julia, is that what you fear? What harm could there be in mother’s things and rooms?”

“Not just your mother’s things, I suspect,” said Holmes. When did your condition worsen?”

“It began yesterday. Before that she was far better,” Julia Baylee replied.

“Give me a list of the rooms you entered and what you touched, to the best of your ability.”

“I was in my own old rooms, the dining room, and briefly father’s former study. I was well until that evening.”

“And what things did you handle?”

“My own possessions, and a few items on father’s desk. We had not touched it since his death, and we were never allowed in before, I thought I ought to tidy up a little before Uncle Andrew came in to settle the last of father’s busyness.”

“There is nothing for it, Miss Baylee. I am in agreement with your sister, you require an entire change of scenery if you are to remain with your life,” I replied.

“I will not quit them yet!”

“She has this senseless idea!” Interrupted her sister, whom Holmes silenced with a quick glance.

“Father left me one thing, which apparently he was working on before he died. He must have seen his end approaching, as he gifted it to me as he was dying. I was too heartbroken to touch it until now.

He left me candles and all of the materials necessary to hold a seance in mother's rooms to reach him and mother. He said he knew it might be a lonely existence for his two orphan children, and urged me to reach out to him if we were in need. He specified them for only my use, but I would have you all and my sister with me, as I know little of spiritual things.”

I suppressed a laugh at Clark’s expression, and Holmes face showed clearly that he was skeptical. Julia shook her head. “It is preposterous, but she refuses to leave the house until this is done. Make her change her mind!”

Holme was silent for a moment. Then, to my surprise, nodded. “We will do as you ask and hold this seance, though I doubt you will receive the comfort you seek. Will tonight do?”

“It will, though we will need another person, I feel, to have an even number. Uncle Andrew is far too skeptical to consider.”

“Perhaps our Mr.Swanson is free tonight. Clark, would you mind paying him a visit and, if he is agreeable, meeting us at the town house? I am very interested in see these rooms.”


	6. Smoke and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I received a comment last week that A03 seems unable to find, so I can't comment on it. But I have the notification e-mail, so will answer it here.
> 
> Erna Clark is my own character, good question! Holmes, Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Gregson and the Baker Street Irregulars are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, and the Te Kay family from the last story is MakeNoiseMan's. The rest are mine, unless I'm forgetting an original character I mentioned.
> 
> Thanks for the kind comments, everyone! I'd really love to hear your suggestions and ideas as to what you think is going on. I get to bounce ideas off MakeNoiseMan on occasion and would love more feedback! Suggest away!
> 
> ~~
> 
> Dialogue and arriving for the seance. Sorry it didn't happen in this chapter, it should have! This chapter ran away on me. I'll see if I get my act together and do another one this week to make up for it.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

I have never known a more confusing journey than the one Holmes and I took to the Baylee townhouse. 

The sisters took their own carriage back to their home, the elder sister had insisted that Miss Emma eat and rest in the elder’s apartments before conducting the seance. Miss Julia Baylee had been all but ready to literally drag her frail sister away to a hotel when Holmes agreed to participate in what I knew he would describe as spiritual nonsense, but Holmes had managed to convince the younger sister to lodge at a hotel immediately after this event and so grudgingly satisfied Julia Baylee. Clark had departed to enlist Swanson, her guarded expression hiding many questions as she left. I had no doubt that she would have a difficult time explaining to Swanson why our logical and practical Holmes would even consider participating in reaching out to the dead. 

I had read reports of mediums and psychics, particularly in America, and had put the entire thing down to charlatans and those gullible and wounded souls who believed them out of loneliness, fear and desperation. I could easily understand that those alone and in pain would happily believe that their loved ones were merely out of reach and waiting in the afterlife than to honestly accept that one was always truly alone in life. 

Holmes had been silent throughout our journey until I could not help but to speak.  
“Surely, Holmes,” I said, “There must be a better way of gaining entry into Helen Baylee’s rooms than this.”

“Bravo, Watson!” replied Holmes with a touch of a smile. “My minor work about their house as a tradesman, called in by a confederate through our Maid’s Chain, could not grant me access to those rooms. I am convinced there is something there that is at the heart of all of this.”

“Why not simply ask to see the rooms and do away with this charade?” I asked, somewhat indignantly. “Such a thing will surely come at an emotional cost to our client, who is fragile enough as it is. Either nothing will happen or, in their anxiety, one or both of the sisters may suffer through some delusion.”

“Because, Watson, it grants us access to the apartments and the house without arousing the suspicions of Julia Baylee.”

“You suspect still that she means her younger sister harm? After the way she attended her sister in Baker Street?”

“I suspect her conflicting feelings in no way touch her devotion to her sister, for I saw the genuine care in her eyes. In an attempt to protect her father’s and mother’s memory, I suspect she would be willing to hide or erase any clues to this dark business. Those clues are yet about the house, I am sure, particularly in those rooms! And Julia Baylee knows it. She has probably figured out the entire problem.”

“Then why not ask her directly?”

“She is determined not to face it. She has worked tirelessly to grow a happy family as the very foundation under her feet is eaten away by her father and his actions. To rip us the floorboards and truly take a look at the pain and desolation hidden underneath is a task not taken lightly. She shrinks at such reflection, and the revelations hidden there, and reacts with anger instead of succumbing to fear. Much like our friend, she has decided to not examine potentially painful feelings and events too closely.”

“You think Emma Baylee still refuses to see the danger in her life?”

“I was not thinking of our client, Watson,” Holmes replied. “You realize, of course, that even if we uncover the entirety of the cause and consequences of this case, we will likely never be able to tell the Baylee ladies.”

“You mean they would not want to know?”

“I mean they would not wish to have when they suspect, perhaps unconsciously in the younger sister’s case, confirmed. We shall most likely have to create some medical reason to pacify the younger sister as to her older sister’s behaviour. Put it down to grief, jealousy, an unbalanced mind, whatever you fancy. Once their parent’s belonging are gone, and in a new home, I suspect both ladies will find their lives infinitely better. If only Prender had managed to take the girls away, they might have been spared a great deal of torment!”

“You do not suspect him?”

“He is the only one I suspect of not hiding anything. I had my suspicions when he refused to interfere and investigate the girls lives and their mothers death, but I suspect the law being on Mr. Baylee’s side and not having enough proof of danger to the girls to bring to court limited his actions. He has done all he can to protect them and keep them happy, that I know.”

At this moment we drew up to an immense townhouse. It was a beautiful building, taking up a full corner of the residence with a sweeping view of its surroundings. Clark and Swanson had arrived shortly before we did, and were waiting for us and our hosts in the hall. Swanson looked curious and a little doubtful, Clark keeping her face carefully neutral, as I suspected she felt her feelings of bemusement would not be taken well by Emma Baylee. “Our hosts have been disagreeing as to where to hold this seance.”

“Both sisters tried to get us to sway the other,” Swanson said, “But we suggested they ask you before making any decisions.”

“Julia is adamant that this be done in her rooms, but Emma has managed to get her way and hold them in her mother’s former chamber on the condition that this experiment last no longer than an hour.”

“Excellent,” replied Holmes. “Anything more?”

“We’ve learned who lives in each room,” replied Clark. “Apparently it used to be Mr. Baylee on the corner, then his wife, then the nursery for the children and their rooms before a guest suite. After Mrs. Baylee’s death, the children continued to share the nursery for a time before Julia Baylee was moved to the guest suite and the nursery turned into rooms for Emma Baylee.”

At this, the elder Baylee sister emerged from her mother’s former room, her face tense. “We will be in here,” she said. “Come in, let’s do this quickly.”


	7. The Seance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look, I've never done or been to a seance and I couldn't be bothered to look up the protocol, what is supposed to happen, etc. 
> 
> Either way, this is to make up for the chapter that didn't happen yesterday. I've had two lovely days listening to creepy atmospheric music and drinking tea at my kitchen table and writing this. Thank you! Stay healthy, everyone!
> 
> MakeNoiseMan- I'm sorry your character does so little in this.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

We entered the late Mrs. Baylee’s rooms. The sun had long set, the windows were shuttered against the night air and lit candles were arranged on a small round table that had been moved into the centre of the room. Our hostess was already seated at the table, her fragile frame shaking slightly as she toyed with the candles. For all their having been packed away, our client’s black gloved fingers came away smeared with dust, which she hurriedly tried to wiped away. She rose unsteadily as we entered, keeping her hands on the table to steady herself. “If you are unwell-” began Clark, but the lady interrupted.

“I’m well enough, I promise. And after this I’ll go straight to our hotel, I swear.”

I turned to Holmes, who nodded. “What can we do?” He asked.  
“Please sit, and I feel we should alternate women and men. Miss Clark, would you please light this censer and set it on the far table? There is no room on this one for it. Julia, if you could please chalk out a circle around us. Mr. Holmes, if you would sit on my right and Dr. Watson on my left, and all take hands.”

We arranged ourselves, Mr. Swanson having his seat farthest from our client with Miss Clark between himself and Mr. Holmes. I sat between the Baylee ladies. For all of her scorn and composure, I could feel a tremor in Julia Baylee’s hand. Her gaze continually darted around the room, flitting from face to face and shadow to shadow, but constantly resting on her sister. I realized that Holmes was indeed right, and this poor woman had been living her whole life in a state of nervous tension and fear for herself and her sister that she masked behind anger.

All were silent as Emma Baylee attempted to calm herself, and I took a moment to discretely observe the mysterious room. Beautiful renovations had been done, and the suite was an elegant example of modern taste. Tastefully patterned wallpaper with the subtlest trace of silver in its pattern faintly glittered in the low candle light. What looked to be the original furniture was pushed back to the far corners of the room. A portrait of the late Mrs. Baylee hung over the fireplace, which Holmes was intently examining from his seat at the table. 

I could see at once the resemblance between the mother and her daughters, even as the smoke from the censer blew a rippling veil of smoke over the artwork. Her eyes were the dame dark brown as her daughters, and her skin had the same fairness. Her build was slightly stronger than that of our client, and more reminiscent of her elder daughter. A sweetness of her smile and sparkle of her eye were confirmed by a photograph of the lady that was placed on one side of the incense censer, flanked by a photograph of the late Mr. Baylee. The gentleman was impressive, with dashing looks and the build of a king, with dark eyes flashing. I suspected it dated to the same time as his wife’s photograph.

The heavy perfume of the incense had filled the room, slightly tickling my nose, as our client began to speak. “In the name of our Lord, I ask that the spirits of Helen and Clarence Baylee come forward and speak to their children.” 

Holmes continued to examine the portrait while I looked instead to the candles, as all others in the room were doing. We waited in silence, Clark suppressing a slight cough. The seconds slipped by and I found myself becoming drowsy and distracted, despite the nervous energy in the room. The tickling in my nose had progressed, the smoke catching me by the throat and it took a great deal of determination to hold back a cough of my own. Still we waited, the candle flames appearing through a haze of smoke as they wavered, being fanned slightly by the laboured and nervous breathing of the younger Baylee. Lifting my gaze at last form the candles, I looked over to Swanson and Clark. Swanson was blinking rapidly, the smoke causing his eyes to water, while Clark was white to the lips and appeared to be fainting. I tried to call out, but found my voice failed me and I gave way to violent coughing. Holmes at last wrenched his gaze from the portrait and looked with concern and then horror at the rest of us. His movement caused Julia Baylee to start, her eyes streaming as they went from the candles to Holmes, then immediately to her sister. Our client was in much the same state as Clark, her breathing now rapid as she chocked for breath. All of this happened in an instant, and the next Julia Baylee had wrenched her hand from mine and was dragging her sister from the room. “Out, Watson! Out!” Holmes yelled as he leapt to help the sisters. Swanson looked quickly to Clark, throwing an arm about her waist and pulling her from her chair to the door as she could not seem to summon the strength to stand. I lurched forward, still coughing, and helped Swanson to get them both to the safety of the hall. Holmes left Emma Baylee to recover in a chair under the care of her sister while he darted back into the room. I could hear him moving swiftly inside, tossing the censer into the fireplace and swiftly smothering the candles with the tablecloth, then throwing wide the shutters and windows. Meanwhile I was attempting to revive Clark, who was not responding although breathing. Emma Baylee was shaking like a leaf in her chair, her breath in great and ragged gasps. Her elder sister held her tightly, her eyes streaming still, as she patted her younger sister’s back and whispered encouragingly to her. “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

“But what happened? That wasn’t… They weren’t…” 

“Knowing Father, he probably overdid himself and supplied too much incense. I was a fool not to check the amount in the censer, one that size could scent an entire cathedral. With the windows closed, it was overpowering.”

Julia threw a pleading glance to me. I managed to choke out that I agreed, which left the younger sister looking relieved.

Holmes had lurched into the hall again as we spoke, slamming the door behind him. Shaking slightly himself an out of breath, he strode forwards and grasped the young woman by the shoulders. “As per your word, I beg you, go immediately to your Hotel. Summon your Uncle Andrew and ask him to send along a doctor he has faith in, just in case there are lingering effects from such powerful smoke.”

Our client looked heartbroken, but nodded. Holmes released her as her sister stepped into the street to hail a cab, himself coming over to where Swanson and I were attempting to wake Clark. “We had better get her to Baker Street, Watson, although I suspect she is not in danger. Swanson, you are welcome to come to Baker Street tomorrow when our friend is awake and ready to discus this unusual evening.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the most boring and soooooo didn't want to be written.
> 
> Thanks to MakeNoiseMan for telling me he'd caught up and so encouraging me to actually sit down and write the next chapter.
> 
> I just thought of how you're going to be more involved in this chapter! Sweet!
> 
> Takk!

We brought Clark back to our rooms and installed her, still unconscious but breathing well, in our guest room. Holmes did not seem concerned overly, and retreated to the sitting room while I spent a few further moments with Clark. I returned to the sitting room to see Holmes lighting his pipe. “Were the fumes in the townhouse not sufficient, Holmes?” I asked, unable to keep a note of sarcasm form my voice.

“You must admit, Watson,” said Holmes, “These fumes are far more palatable.”

“Indeed! Though it’s taken me by the throat several times entering our rooms, given the amount you smoke.”

“And by the eyes on occasion. Unlike the incense of tonight.”

“But it did irritate the eyes, Holmes.”

“Did they yours?”

I paused a moment. “No, mine were fine, though Clark, Swanson and the elder Baylee left with their eyes streaming.”

“Clark and Swanson were nearest the censer, so were bothered more by the smoke. Clark’s reaction I will need to reflect on further. Julia Baylee’s reaction was not from he smoke.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was weeping, Watson. She was attempting a final connection with lost loved ones with whom she has a painful relationship. Had she not been so blinded by pain she would have noticed her sister’s plight earlier.”

I recalled Julia’s still streaming eyes when she comforted her sister, and was moved to agree. 

“So what of this business, Holmes?”

“There are still aspects I do not fully grasp. When Clark wakes and Swanson returns, we will discuss it, though I suspect we will come up short. There is still more, still more!”

~

The morning brought me no further revelations. Clark was still sleeping deeply then I entered her rooms, and I was slightly concerned. However, she did wake briefly, but was so exhausted I encouraged her to drink some water and return to sleep.

Holmes was already awake, dressed and pacing when I came into the sitting room. I told him of Clark’s improvement and could see a fleeting look of relief in his face. Swanson arrived at nine as we were pouring out coffee, joining us as he passed a had over confused eyes as he stifled a slight lingering cough. “How’s Clark?”

“She’s recovering well but not strong enough to join us,” I said. “She said to discuss matters, she would join when she could.”

“She must hate that,” Swanson observed with a slight smile.

“She does,” Holmes replied. “We had better not solve this matter without her, she will never forgive us.”

“We’re not likely to,” I said. “What did you learn from last night, Holmes?”

“Apart from the dangers of a great deal of smoke in an enclosed space, very little,” Holmes said. “The photographs and portrait were encouraging, however. Did you notice them?”

“I had my back to the photographs, I think,” said Swanson. “The portrait did look a great deal like both ladies.”

“I thought the same.”

“And the photograph of the father?”

“There was some resemblance there, I thought. Something about the cheekbones, particularly in the elder sister.”

“Here we venture into the realm of pure speculation,” said Holmes. “For I could detect stronger traces of Mr. Baylee in Julia’s face than Emma’s. You recall my suggestion, based on nothing, that there may have been a closeness between Mrs. Baylee and Mr. Prender? I would be interested to see if there is a stronger resemblance between him and the younger daughter than between her and Mr. Baylee. And possibly between Prender and Julia.”

“That is a great and potentially damaging thing to suggest Holmes!” I said sharply.

“What does it matter? Neither child can be injured by my speculations, both have their livelihoods secured and none living that would attempt to injure them with such a suggested secret.”

“If Prender is their father,” said Swanson, “Why didn’t he take the girls away at once? Or does he not know?”

“I suspect he does know, or at least suspect that at least Emma and possibly Julia may be his, although remember that it is not certain. But to claim the girls from their mother’s husband after her death would have greatly disgraced them both in the eyes of society. As his share of the company was smaller, it was in their best interests socially and financially to stay where they were. Their questionable legitimacy could have been what spurred Mr. Baylee to act so strangely.”

“Strangely indeed,” coughed Clark, stepping gingerly into the room and easing into a chair. I quickly poured her a glass of water, which she gulped down. “I heard your voices. What have you found out?”

“Little but speculation,” I replied, shooting Holmes a glance.

“More than speculation, Watson! Don’t let your chivalry cloud reality.”

“Speaking of clouds,” said Swanson, turning to Clark, “Any thoughts on that incense?”

“I think if Miss Baylee had obeyed her father’s instructions to hold the seance alone his ghost would be guilty of manslaughter.”

“Surely not!” I said.

“Miss Baylee is already weakened, that potent blend was designed to harm. Did any one of you get to look into the censer?”

“No,” replied Holmes. “Why?”

“It was full, but not overflowing. Given the amount of incense powder in there, the scent should have been a great deal stronger.”

Here Clark was overtaken by another bought of coughing. As she poured more water, she nodded at Swanson, who spoke for her. “Clark has been making incense for some months now, to move away from mass produced products. It has led to a great deal of research and, as I myself am interested, Clark has discussed her findings with me.”

“Given the amount of powder, especially sandalwood judging by the scent, there should have been a great deal more fragrance in the air, not merely smoke,” Clark said at last, getting her breathing back somewhat. “There was a great deal of something in there that shouldn’t have been. I suspect Emma was affected more due to her illness.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I lit the thing, and inhaled a good dose of it then in addition to being seated closest to it. Whatever Mr. Baylee put in there was intended to kill.”

“What a vengeful act!”

“Even without his suspicions confirmed, the idea of illegitimacy, jealousy, loss of his wife, and anger at his dead wife were enough to overpower what affection he once had for Emma Baylee and move him to attempt her life when she was most heartbroken. I am glad the ladies are going to be rid of this. However, I suspect this is not over.”

“Do you think he had attempted her life before?”

“I do, and I suspect-”

At this Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered with a letter on a tray. Holmes impatiently examined the envelope before tearing the letter open and staring intently at it. “It appears we may get some further information today. We have a former colleague calling this morning who claims to know of the Baylee family matter and wishes to speak to us.”

“Who is it?” I asked. “Gregson?”

“No. Bradshawe.”


	9. By His Own Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bradshawe's return occurred to me several weeks ago as I was going to bed. Just took my socks off, asking myself plot questions that I'd been trying to answer since Christmas when he popped up with answers that had me reacting with rage, hurt feelings and even more questions. I know it's shorter, it's all I've got for now.
> 
> Anyways, this will veer back to the story at hand. 
> 
> I do actually make my own incense, as mentioned for Clark in the last chapter, but am no expert. Still, kindly accept that I have a slight idea what I'm talking about.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

Bradshawe!

Swanson and I quickly looked to Clark, Swanson with a look of apprehension and a subtle movement away. Clark herself was silent for a moment, anger building in her face that she did little to control. “What, he’s involved in this too?!”

“We shall see, shortly,” replied Holmes, standing and striding to the mantlepiece to fill his pipe. 

“Are you mad?”

“Clark is right, Holmes,” I added. “Bradshawe is dangerous, and I don’t doubt that this may be an attempt to injure you.”

“By a letter clearly stating when he intends to call? Knowing full well I could summon Lestrade and several constables to be present if I so chose? And ensuring that the letter sent includes a mention of a murderous case, one in which he claims knowledge? No, no attempt on my life would be so clumsy as that.”

“What would he care about being clumsy?” Clark demanded, rising to her feet and standing before Holmes. “He’s tried to kill you once.”

“Did he?”

“Yes! When you were abducted!” 

“On the contrary, Clark,” said Holmes, looking down at our small friend with a minor and reluctant smile. “It was he who held his confederate’s hand and allowed me to live.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is more, from what I gather, it was going against direct orders to allow me to do so. I gather he was able to change his boss’ mind, but not after directly disobeying. I don’t know that he would have been able to let me go free or live in the end, however, without risking his own life.”

“Fortunate that I got your letter,” said Swanson.

“Yes,” replied Holmes, “Quite fortunate that, despite my having never reached the post office to send it, my letter was still mailed and delivered to you, allowing you to begin to unravel the mystery.”

“Someone must have posted it after you’d dropped it,” I said, heatedly. “The matter stands, Holmes, that Bradshawe-”

“That Bradshawe posted the letter,” Holmes interrupted.

There was silence at this. Swanson and I were thunderstruck, while Clark was rooted to the spot and appeared to be staring through rather than at Holmes.

“But my address had to be on the letter,” opposed Swanson. “He knew you had been to see me. Surely he would know what the letter was about and keep or destroy it.”

“I suspect he did know what the letter was.”

“And still posted it? Why?”

“I can only guess,” replied Holmes. “I suspect Bradshawe’s heart is not in his work as much as others.”

“You never enquired?” I asked, incredulous that Holmes would let any form of mystery pass him by.

“I suspected we would hear from him before long.”

“He still deliberately obstructed justice and tried to run when Lestrade and Te Kay confronted him with the truth” said Swanson. 

“From what you have told me, I suspect he was not attempting to escape,” said Holmes, re-filling his pipe before giving Clark a piercing look. Clark at last looked up at Holmes.

“Then he was attempting to secure a hostage, as Clark was in front of the door,” Swanson said.

“Or attempting to explain himself to her. However, Clark gave him little chance. I expect in hindsight he understood that so abrupt a gesture would be met with defence.”

“He still allowed you and those who hold you dear to suffer,” I said, my mind full of the sleepless nights and anxious days Clark and I had passed.

“And now he appears to possibly prevent more suffering,” Holmes replied. “He cannot have been out of prison for more than a few days, has managed to find an old newspaper detailing the death of Mr. Baylee or hear of this through a confederate or a word on the street, and is coming here regardless of consequence. He is a complex character, and due in mere moments. I must ask that all of you refrain from discourteous behaviour, though, Watson, you may remain armed if you wish.”

Holmes stepped from his desk and retrieved an envelope, which he handed to Clark. “It may be time to read Bradshawe’s letter.”

At this there was a peal of the bell, which caused Clark to start. She paused for a moment before thrusting the letter into her pocket and striding into the adjoining room, leaning the door partially open so that, while concealed, she could still hear all.

I turned to Swanson, who shrugged. “May as well hear him."


	10. Another Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so okay
> 
> I have no answers, but nothing got written till just this week.  
> I had to sit down and handwrite out what I thought Bradshawe's letter said, which helped. It may get typed up and posted in a later chapter.
> 
> Full disclosure, Bradshaw's character has changed a great deal on me. I didn't see any of it coming and have no idea where it's going.
> 
> Regarding the mystery, things are getting sorted out now!

The man who entered our sitting room was far different from the Bradshawe I had met last winter. The man had a haggard look, his hair longer and beard unkempt while his skin had turned from fair to ashen. While he was not bothering to feign the same stiffness that he had at our last encounters, he appeared to be weighted down with despair, his tall form seeming shrunken. Over bright eyes scanned the room hesitantly, not lingering on our faces and dropping to the floor before he straightened resolutely and looked to Holmes. I could not mistake the disappointment and faint relief in his eyes at Clark’s apparent absence. Swanson and I had stood when Bradshawe entered, neither of us looking particularly welcoming, although Holmes waived our visitor to the sofa.

“Please have a seat, Bradshawe, and perhaps a coffee. I have just been explaining to Watson and Swanson some of the peculiarities of my disappearance and reappearance last year.”

“And I admit we have many questions,” I began, suspecting that Clark would probably be at least as curious as we were, but Bradshawe held up a hand.

“I’m not here to excuse my behaviour, as there is little chance of ever being absolved of my crimes.”

“You have served your time in the eyes of the court,” I said.

Bradshawe waved his hand again. “I found a newspaper of some months back, describing the death of Mr. Clarence Baylee, that is why I am here.”

“And you are not endangering yourself in doing so?” Asked Holmes, filling his pipe with an eye on Bradshawe.

“No, as the man in question is dead and I have no proof, only the words of a fellow inmate and my own observations, there is little damage posed to my former employer.”

“Former?” Swanson and I said in surprise.

“The hold on me is released, I have been given my life. Those I love who could have been harmed to cause my suffering and ensure compliance are out of the organization’s reach. So long as I am not actively working against them, all is well.”

“And what have you to tell us of the vindictive Mr. Baylee?” Holmes asked.

Slightly surprised, Bradshawe responded, “I am surprised to hear you call him so. You were already on his trail?”

“We were not. His family approached Watson and myself on the matter of his rather peculiar behaviour regarding his property. Until that meeting I had never heard of the gentleman.”

“He had a reputation of being a monster, quickly offended and quick to retaliate as long as the person was beneath him. He was both held in high esteem as an important person and seen as volatile. He was rumoured to have a particular hatred for his youngest daughter, and was rumoured to have either accidentally or intentionally killed his wife many years ago.”

“What about the dead man caused you to come here?”

“I suspect that, even in death, he may be dangerous to all of you.”

“You’re not far wrong there,” I said, wryly. 

Bradshawe started. “You have received something already?”

“My correspondence is carefully monitored,” replied Holmes, “Nothing has arrived of late. What should I be expecting?”

“Not just you, Mr. Holmes, all of you,” said Bradshawe. “When there was an individual the organization wished to remove, there would be talk of getting product, or a ‘gift’, from Baylee. I was never involved with him or the parcel, nor ever told who was going to receive a lethal package from him. 

I suspected that, after your comrades rescued you, they may been seen as potential dangers and articles may be set aside for them and you in the future. The suspicion around Mr. Baylee’s death was that he must have been working on several dangerous packages at once, which led to his death.”

“Do you know anything about the manner of his death?” I asked.

“I overheard from another inmate, Rolstein, that he had gone the same way as his wife-”

“Rolstein! Dr. Rolstein?”

“I don’t know,” responded Bradshawe, “He was another member of the organization, I overheard him speaking to another inmate. None there chose to share any details with me.”

“Emma Baylee’s seance supplies and possibly these potential packages killed Mr. Baylee, and the organizations own doctor was called in to quickly and quietly pass the death certificate,” Holmes said. “Do you have any knowledge of what form these gifts take?”

“I suspect something to do with the arts or interior design, as that was Mr. Baylee’s profession, but I am not sure. I heard a whisper that another man, Prender, was fortunate Baylee was afraid of him or, and I quote, ‘his art would have been the death of him’.”

I was about to respond that while Holmes and Swanson were musicians, none of us were artists when I caught sight of Holmes. He was unmoving, with a glint in his eyes. “Did Baylee’s firm manufacture wallpaper?” Holmes asked, at last.

“Yes,” came Clark’s slightly muffled voice from the other room, causing Bradshawe to start.  
“I should have seen this sooner, particularly with the rooms. The incense was a clumsy idea. The rooms!”

At this Clark passed quickly from the side room through our sitting room and into the hall, averting her face from Bradshawe. “I’ll get two cabs for the Baylee residence. Swanson, come on!”

Swanson rose, casting a questioning glance at Holmes, who gave a small nod.

After Swanson and Clark left, I could not help but feel a small amount of pity for Bradshawe. The unhappy man had, I thought, probably hoped for her forgiveness. His face, as he sat, showed little hope. He rose at last. “That is all the information I had. I hope I have helped, at least a little.”

“You have, and you can help still further.”

“How?”

“By returning to your rooms, perhaps by way of your barber, unless you choose to accompany us and see if your suspicions were correct. Unless I’ve missed my guess and they have already been retrieved, it is likely a series of dangerous gifts are in the late Mr. Baylee’s office.”


	11. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew!
> 
> Okay, one more after this to wrap up, I think.
> 
> Christmas writing challenge starts today, too, so hopefully I get something written and posted on a different story today.
> 
> Thanks again to MakeNoiseMan for being a character and letting me steal his last time!

It was an infinitely more hopeful journey to the Baylee residence than the last. Bradshawe had elected not to come with us, more than a little confused at Holmes’s suggestion that he accompany us. He did ask to be informed at to whether his visit had been useful, to which Holmes responded that he would. “I shall inform you of the effects of your resurfacing,” was his promise, unusual even for Holmes.

I could not draw Holmes into revealing his thoughts on the journey, his secretive nature drawing him into silence as my mind was a whirl. It seemed to take an age to reach our destination, though it was only late morning when we arrived. We arrived on the heels of Swanson and Clark, the latter doing all in her power to appear as if the effects of last night’s adventure were well and truly passed. I suspect she had at last read Bradshawe’s letter in the cab, and was doing her utmost to not let it affect her, as I have never seen her with such a rigid expression. I also suspect she showed the letter to her friend Swanson, who gave a small shake of the head and a smile when we arrived, as if asking us not to inquire after her reaction. 

The maid at the door was reluctant to let us in, but eventually we were admitted to the late Helen Baylee’s rooms, now occupied by Emma Baylee. I had expected Holmes to go straight to Mr. Baylee’s office, and was a little confused. With the windows uncovered and light streaming in, I could at last see the richness of the rooms. Mr. Baylee’s renovations at his elder daughter’s insistence had been done with little thought to expense. Ornate emerald paper covered the walls, pale green and mauve cushions of silk gleamed on a luxurious velvet sofa. All fabrics of the room were vibrant and costly. An easel with a partially finished pastel drawing showing a view of twenty years ago or more was near the window, though the pastels were no where nearby. I suspect it was started by the late lady of the house. It truly didn’t appear that a father who wished his daughter ill would spend such money on decorations. 

Holmes stood in the centre of the room, his eyes roaming over the finery. At last he spoke, “I wouldn’t advise touching any of the fabrics or painted surfaces in this room.”

“Why not, Holmes? You think they are in some way harmful?”

“Indeed,” replied Holmes. “Arsenic is harmful more often than not.”

“Arsenic! But where?”

“In the fabric, the paint, the very walls! For some time now, there have been doctor’s reports that arsenic used in wall paper, paint and dye was causing ill effects. Skin troubles, breathing difficulties, digestive issues and death if swallowed. Green is particularly toxic. However, the public is willing to turn a blind eye to the dangers for the sake of high fashion, and many innocent guests have been poisoned with green tinted foods or decorations. I suspect these fabrics and paper were created by Mr. Baylee’s company to his specifications. Most likely, they contain far more arsenic than any of his competitors.”

“So Mr. Baylee’s change of heart and allowing his youngest access to her mother’s things…”

“Yes, Watson,” Holmes said. “Mr. Baylee had made up his mind to kill his child. I suspect a great deal of arsenic was already present in the furnishings, objects and clothing enjoyed by Helen Baylee, which most likely caused her ill health. Julia Baylee suspected some of this, as seen in her purchasing clothing for her sister and trying to distance her from her mother’s possessions. The renovations to the room most likely did not fool the elder as to their intention.”

“But it wasn’t the renovations that killed Mr. Baylee,” Swanson interjected. “He would have known to take precautions.”

“Most likely,” replied Holmes. “I suspect we shall find answers in his office.”

The dead man’s office was indeed plainer, it entirely lacked the vibrant colours of the other room. A large desk by the windows had some piles of paper, by its side were piled several boxes. Holmes held up a hand to stop us before pulling on gloves. “It would be wise for no one to touch anything by that desk. Unless I am mistaken, those boxes and their contents are what killed Mr. Baylee and worsened the health of Emma Baylee.”

“She came into contact with them when she was organizing her father’s papers!” realized Clark.

“I suspect so.”

Gingerly, Holmes lifted one box onto the desk and opened it, revealing a box of chalk pastels. “Mr. Prender was something of an artist, you will all recall. It was suggested his art would be the death of him. An artist would get the pastels on their skin, breathe them in while working, even possibly lick one to achieve a desired consistency and effect.”

“What if Helen Baylee accidentally used Prender’s gift? The one Mr. Baylee was making as a form of apology all those years ago?” suggested Swanson.

“You mean the drawing in the other room?”

“Yes. It could account for her sudden demise.”

“And account for Mr. Baylee’s conflicting feelings regarding his wife and infant daughter. His suspicions of his wife were not confirmed and she may have died accidentally by his hand. As his youngest grew, he more and more wished to punish Prender, his dead wife, and his innocent child. You recall his will was written when Emma and Julia were but children, he wanted to wait until Emma was a woman, resembling her mother, and kill her intentionally, in place of his wife, perhaps. I am willing to say that their mother’s rooms and possessions were refreshed with arsenic steadily over the years or immediately after her death, so that the daughters would notice little amiss on their yearly visits. I suspect he broke his plan on occasion and dosed his daughter with arsenic, hoping she would die. His remorse and Prender and Julia’s attention meant his efforts were immediately thwarted with medical care.”

“What made him hasten his plans? Let Emma into her mother’s rooms?”

“We may never know.”

“What else was Baylee making, Holmes?” I asked, looking to the other boxes.

Holmes gingerly lifted their contents onto the desk. One contained a tin of ginger cookies, rolled in white sugar. Another held a small embroidered sachet of rich green that appeared to contain lavender flowers. The last contained a phial of white powder. I thought the substance was arsenic used to poison the other object at first, until Holmes laughed. “Behold! The thwarted death of Sherlock Holmes! No doubt this is cocaine, cut with arsenic. I suspect the infamous employer would have attempted to sneak this into our rooms, Watson, and sent these others to us by post. I would keep well away from the powdered sugar and resist inhaling the scent of the lavender pouch.”


	12. Another Conclusion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, adding some things I wanted to include to wrap up.
> 
> I think that's the last of it! I don't know if I'll include Bradshawe's letter, it seems awfully personal for Watson to document. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!

It was evening before Holmes and I regained our rooms at Baker Street, Holmes stopping at the post office and Scotland Yard while I went to check on the recovering Baylee ladies before doing my rounds. Swanson had returned home to teach, and Clark had returned to her residence rather than discuss the case, which I found odd. Holmes sat in his favourite chair, leisurely smoking his pipe. “A satisfying end to the case, Watson,” he said.

“Indeed,” I replied. “Although I hardly guessed at the beginning the number of twists and turns before we got to the truth. On the surface it appeared merely sibling rivalry.”

“Did it?”

“Didn’t it you?”

“At first glance. Once we began to rule see the full weakness of our client and learn the family history, I began to have some doubts.”

“Hardly weakness,” I replied. “Emma Baylee was able to withstand decades of intermittent arsenic exposure, not to mention the high levels shortly before her father’s death. I suspect that, with enough time to recover fully, she will be the most healthy and robust woman in England.”

“She had her mother to thank for that, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“You observed the late mother’s portrait, did you not? In her features lay traces of what I can only guess is Styrian ancestry. Hailing from Austria, they frequently dose themselves with minute amounts of arsenic, sometimes also giving similar doses to their horses. I doubt the lady engaged in such a practice, but there may have been some hereditary immunity. It would account for the very fair skin.”

“I hope the workmen of the Baylee residence are as resilient,” I said. Holmes had sent a wire to the Baylee sisters saying that a great deal of the young lady’s health problems had been due to arsenic used in the manufacturing of household items, strongly advising the use of caution when removing the fabric and wallpaper. I suspect Emma Baylee was prepared to assume that the dangerous substances in the paper were what had driven her elder sister to such unusual behaviour, until she reached the day when she could possibly confront the dangers of their past with honesty.

“With the proper precautions, I suspect they will be fine,” replied Holmes. “Are there any further questions?”

“Not about the case, about Bradshawe’s actions. Specifically, why did he contact you? It was due to our actions that he was caught, tried and sentenced. Why act to protect us and you?”

“I spoke true when I said Bradshawe’s heart was not in his work. His record in the force before this was a noble one, honest and fair. I suspect he did not wish to see any of us injured, particularly Clark. She and Swanson could not help but catch the attention of the organization after their diversion last Christmas.”

“Why come in person to us?”

“I suspect a sense of honour. The same one that induced him to write to Miss Clark.”

“She possessed more honour when she refused to read it,” I responded, hotly.

“It was not honour. It was fear. She trusted Bradshawe at first, as you did. I suspect she may have had a growing affection for him before realizing he was not to be fully trusted. Afterward, she did not trust herself or her judgement and was afraid of being deceived again or possibly of her feelings being used as a manipulation. I spoke of it in the cab to you when we went to the seance at the Baylee house, that our friend was reluctant to face uncomfortable feelings. Things were brought to a head when I revealed that Bradshawe was not the traitorous image she preferred to condemn than face and understand.”

“But-” I began, but Holmes interrupted with an impatient gesture.

“But nothing, Watson! Your chivalrous mind quickly and easily assumes that all beings are either evil or good tempted by evil. There are multiple facets to even the most simple person, and all faces drawn in shades of light and shadow. Even Mr. Baylee had enough love in him to raise his daughters and enough remorse to call in doctors after his attempted poisoning. I suspect Lestrade and the others at the force will feel the same was about Bradshawe that you do and refuse to have anything to do with him, even after he explains himself. However, that is their loss, as I have decided to hire him.”

“You what?” I exclaimed.

“I have decided to hire him. He is a quick mind and brave, brave enough to sacrifice his career and honour defending his family, and his pride by coming here in person. I have explained this to the yard, and an incredulous Lestrade, that I consider this probation and at the end of a year will recommend Bradshawe be reinstated to the force.”

I could hardly speak to this. At length, I asked, “What made him fall under the power of whatever criminal organization it was?”

“His sister,” replied Holmes. “She fell prey to the so called affections of a deceitful brute, who married her and had tormented her for some time. At length, under tremendous strain and torment, she killed him. I had read an account of his death in the paper and, while the article called him a hot headed but model citizen dead by foul play, I knew him to be a terror. He was a member of this organization, who hushed up the matter and used the entire thing as blackmail to ensure Bradshawe’s collaboration. Bradshawe told Clark this in his letter. His sister is now free and happy on the continent.”

I admit to feeling conflicted when I learned of Bradshawe’s past. It was certainly easier to simply call Bradshawe a lowlife and forget all about the complexities of the man. I wondered what Clark would think.

“I fancy Clark is going through the same internal struggles as yourself,” observed Holmes, with a small smile.

“It would explain why she returned home rather than discuss the case with us.”

Holmes nodded. “Had she stuck to her vision of the evil officer, she would not have returned home to feel and think. I sent a telegram to Bradshawe’s address, given to me by this morning’s letter, offering him work and saying Clark had at last read his letter and retired home to reflect. Quick as he is, he will see that she understands the difficulties of his former position.”

“He’ll not forget her hiding herself from him.”

“He knows now she had not read it then, and probably understands why. I suspect she was hiding pain and what she felt as weakness when she passed through the room. Otherwise she would have faced him boldly and coldly.”

I passed a hand over weary eyes. The confusing case and now this were too much. Holmes recognized this and laughed, plucking his violin from his desk. 

“And now, Watson, allow me to attempt to soothe your troubled mind with a little Handel.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have little knowledge of British law. Go with it.


End file.
